


Not Yet Ready

by Archangel0Lucifer



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Arguing, Childhood Trauma, Demon/Human Relationships, Edgeplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light BDSM, Love, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Nonbinary Character, Not Canon Compliant, Other, POV First Person, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Questioning, Relationship(s), Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel0Lucifer/pseuds/Archangel0Lucifer
Summary: A one shot tale that explores a day in the relationship between (retired) Papa Emeritus the Second and OC Syver Andersson.Snowed in together at home, the couple enjoy an intimate night that ends with a disagreement. Will they be able to fix things the following morning?Mentions of Dom/sub relationship but without detail.Told in Syver's POV
Relationships: Papa Emeritus II/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Not Yet Ready

**Author's Note:**

> This story was begging to be written. It will not necessarily fit into my larger piece, Ad Meliora, but it involves the main characters and stays true to their personalities.
> 
> This is intended as a one shot and stand alone, even as it takes place in my own existing universe.

The snow stopped falling some time during the night. The projected totals were nearly reached, with a fresh layer of soft white set on top of the packed down, icy leftovers from the previous storm. I was quite used to snow, growing up with the stuff for my whole life. I even loved it- the serene beauty and feelings a fresh coating often left behind- but nothing prepared me for the totals that came down all winter long up in the mountains. Each new fall left me more and more impressed. I could appreciate the beauty from the safety and warmth of the estate house. The house I shared with the man I loved.

The day before, I paid little mind to the storm outside. I would peek out a window on occasion, but didn't stop my day to watch it fall. It started light and slow, picking up by mid afternoon. It was falling in heavy blankets as the sun started to set. I was much more interested with what was going on inside the house. I'd been pampered and spoiled for most of the evening. I'd been used to days like that, hesitant to accept, but appreciative of being spoiled.

The late afternoon into early evening was spent watching a movie in the sitting room. It was an older comedy from the days of Hollywood's golden age. The black and white imagery, well timed music, and on point slapstick had been entertaining to say the least and I enjoyed it very much. It was not often that I had the attention span to watch a feature film, but the comfort of the man at my side kept me invested in the large screen before us.

After the movie, we took time for dinner. A simple but delicious meal had been prepared for me. My love was truly an excellent cook. It consisted of homemade pasta topped with a hearty red sauce that cooked all day. It was served with slow roasted vegetables coated in garlic butter and a wonderful wine braised oxtail. Store bought bread had been sliced and grilled, drizzled with a florally olive oil. The food was delicious and filling. The fantastic aromas from the kitchen left me anticipating the meal all day. I was happy the anticipation was met with fulfillment.

After dinner there was wine. It was more than a glass each but not too much. It left me feeling tingly without being drunk. I was definitely buzzed and pleasantly so. The wine was an aged red with spicy undertones and subtle sweet notes. I'd never been much of a wine drinker but I had been learning to appreciate it. It paired excellently with the warm heat of the fireplace and gentle embrace of the man I'd come to fall in love with. As the fire and wine was shared, a comfortable silence was filled with longing gazes, a fair amount of touching and plenty of needy kisses. As the final sip was savored, I thought nothing could ruin the evening. I'd been terribly mistaken.

A sound from upstairs drew me from my memory. I was reminded that I'd been sitting in the kitchen with a long forgotten mug of coffee. I felt chilly as I wasn't properly dressed. The house was well insulated, but the tiles in the kitchen made it seem colder. Without the stove or oven to warm the space, it was arguably the coldest room in the house.

It was early, barely eight in the morning. The sky was a stunning shade of blue, vivid and bright. There wasn't a cloud in sight. The beauty of the view outside the back window was breathtaking, but it did nothing to change the way I felt inside. After brewing myself a single serving of fresh ground coffee, I went and sat at the kitchen table, with my chair angled to see the scene out the window- a view of snow topped mountains and miles of old, snow kissed giant pine trees. I had held a mug of coffee in my hands. It steamed when I sat down but had cooled significantly as I seemed to close off, trapped in my own thoughts. I forgot to drink from it but what I truly wanted to forget was the night before and the problem I caused.

Six weeks earlier, I made the decision to leave my place at the Emeritus Church of Satan. It had been such an integral part of who I was for the last seven years of my life. I didn't want to say I regret what I did in leaving but my own anxieties had me questioning my decision. Was it too soon? Was I ready to leave such a structured and routine setting? Had I messed up with my choice to walk away from it all? At the time, I did not think that it was a wrong decision, and even then in the kitchen, I had hoped my leaving the church wasn't done in vain. I gave up my commitment to vows I took as a Sibling of Sin. I left not only the church but a job I loved, a home I made, a life I'd grown comfortable with. I moved off the grounds, far away and much further north into the home of the man I loved. I wanted a new stage of life, with him. It was clear to me, he wanted a life with me as well. Yet somehow, the clarity often skewed inside my head.

I was still a believer in Satan and all the Beast stood for. I still felt my faith and prayed often. My life would forever be dedicated to my own self and the Master below. I just chose to leave my place in the clergy, following my heart to the estate house in the mountains. I followed my heart to the only man who ever made me feel worthy of the love he gave. I only wished that my mind would hold to that. Many times I found myself questioning if he did love me. He said he had and his actions were proof, but still, I worried. I was happy overall but my fear of losing that happiness often took it away from me. I'd been misled before and was terribly afraid of it happening again.

It was nothing but a personal choice that led me to my decision to leave. Nothing in the rules stated that I had to give up my role as a Sibling to be with him. I had only decided that I wanted the change. I needed change in my life, and I got it when I handed in my resignation to Sister Imperator. She was sad to see me go but understood my feelings on the matter and wished me well. The few friends I'd made didn't take my decision so easily and I questioned the validity of those friendships. As open and loyal a person as I was, I never really mastered the art of keeping friends.

At some point I must have started crying. I'd been so lost in my head I didn't realize that I had until I took in a sniffling breath and sobbed out quietly. I pushed my coffee mug onto the table further to prevent a spill. I leaned my head down on the table edge and covered my face with my hands. I knew that once I gave into the tears, they wouldn't stop, so I didn't bother to try.

I'd been overdue a good long cry. I didn't cry as often as I felt I should. It was a leftover side effect from my past. I was often yelled at and made to feel worthless when I cried. Sometimes I'd been screamed at, sent away or the target for thrown objects, just because I had to cry. I stopped doing it most of the time. I learned to bottle it up. I sometimes cried, as it was unavoidable, but more often than not I fought it. I had been emotionally exhausted from the previous night I needed to cry. I allowed myself the time to do it. I was alone. I couldn't cry the night before, as much as I felt like I needed to. I cried then.

My tears came in waves, and the sobs were loud and sporadic. My nose was running and my chest felt tight. I still let myself continue, deciding then it was best I let it all go. In the lulls of my cries, my mind began to wander.

The night before, I couldn't help but blame myself for the argument that happened. It was entirely my fault that what had been a good night turned sour. I never knew when I began to say too much. That was a very big problem for me. I was always saying too much, or not enough. I said nothing at all or a lot of the wrong things. I often struggled to find the right words to say.

The kisses by the fireplace led to the decision to go upstairs. Neither of us had come to the decision on our own, choosing mutually that we wished to continue things in a different setting. I wanted more than kisses and soft touch. I wanted to feel him lay down with me. I wanted full contact, skin on skin.

He took me upstairs and into the bedroom. We kissed for a while, not looking to rush into anything more. Slowly, piece by piece, our clothes came off and piled neatly at the bottom of the bed. I was naked, body shaking softly in the middle of our mattress. He was almost fully undressed, left only in a pair of silk boxer shorts. The kisses between us grew heated and the touching a bit more risque. My body had gone warm and tingly but I knew it wasn't from the wine any longer. I was very much aroused, but far from reaching my end.

Up and down my body, he kissed and nipped at my skin. Tiny bite marks were left over my neck, deeper sets of bruises littered my chest and belly. He gently scratched down my legs, leaving pale lines in the wakes of his fingernails. At first he avoided direct contact with my pelvic region, but soon his fingers grasped my hips and his lips circled around my penis. I groaned his name, clutching his shoulders beneath my shaking hands. I started to roll my hips, inching closer to completion, and thinking that he'd bring me my release.

He surprised me when he sat back. Without so much as a word, he stood and walked away from the bed. It left me confused. It left me aching for more. I didn't ask him what he was planning but I questioned his actions in my mind. I had my answer when he disappeared into the connected bathroom and I heard the rush of water into the large tub.

After a while he returned to the bed and helped me up to my feet. He led me into the bathroom. The tub was full, the water shimmered with bathtime additives. Three candles burned from their holders, set on the wide back edge of the tub. No other light but the flicker of flame filled the room and it glowed brightly, bouncing off the dark grey tiles that lined the walls.

The bath was for me and I was very happy with his thoughtfulness. He kissed me once and held my hand as I climbed into the tub. He did not let go until I was seated, comfortable and reclined. A luxurious bath pillow was placed under my head as I leaned further back. The water was of an optimal temperature and the oils he poured into it were pleasing to my senses. The heavy hit of jasmine with notes of vanilla warmed my senses and deepened the mood I was already in. I asked him to join me but he quietly declined, choosing to sit with me in the room but not getting into the tub. He promised me that I'd get some enjoyment, beyond the bath itself.

He stayed by my side, touching me in all the right places. He smoothed his palms over my neck, running them down and over the part of my chest not covered with water. Expert fingers toyed with my nipples, tugging at my piercings and sending little shocks that settled in my groin. I smiled at him before closing my eyes and giving in to the building pleasure. The feelings intensified as he slipped his hand lower, disturbing the surface tension of the bathwater. It was a slow stroking motion between my legs that made me moan and brought me close to completion once more, but he stopped before I reached it. I made no protest that he stopped, even as my body shivered and wanted more.

He helped me up and out of the tub, taking much care and effort to dry my body as the water swirled down the drain. Again, we kissed and touched one another. My legs began to shake and he promised to bring me straight to our bed.

We returned to the bedroom and I left my towel draped over a chair. He assisted me with climbing into bed before removing his boxers. He climbed in after me and covered my body with his own. He teased and pleased me, working me up and letting me cool down. He did this a couple of times until I begged him to bring me my release. He did, twice, before I began to feel sleepy. The first was by his hands alone, the second time, he made proper love to me, the sensation so good I cried. We cleaned up the mess in our bed and took a brief shower together. He kissed me some more, then it was time for sleep.

I dressed in my favorite satin and lace romper before laying down at his side. I stayed over the duvet, even as he chose to slip underneath. I still felt warm but not uncomfortably so. I flitted between light dozes and awakeness, not fully committing to sleep for the night. He sat up with a book, keeping an arm set loosely around my back. It was comfortable and common. We loved and cherished the quiet moments as much as any other.

The night hadn't yet turned sour as he set the book down on his bedside table. He shut the light and I shifted around until I was under the covers with him. I snuggled up close, kissing his neck until I felt his arms close around my waist. It was the calm before the storm.

Another sound from upstairs drew me from my thoughts. I knew that it had been him and I anticipated his presence in the kitchen quite soon. I felt anxious and scared. I drank down my cold coffee, just to put something in my stomach to stop it from clenching, making me feel ill. I started to cry harder again and it was purely fear driven. I did not know what he might say to me or worse, I didn't know if he'd say nothing at all. I slipped back into my thoughts, focusing on where it all went wrong.

As sleep was ready to claim us for the night, I untangled myself from his embrace. I sat myself up. I looked up at his face in the dark. It wasn't pitch black so I could see he was looking back at me.

"What do you want, Syver?" He had asked me and sounded very sleepy. I felt his hand seek out mine in the dark. I let him lace his fingers through mine.

"You love me, right Dante?" I whispered. I knew that he did but sometimes I needed to hear it, to silence my inner negativity.

"Of course I love you." He replied, turning onto his side to better face me. He didn't let go of my hand.

It was always his answer and he never once made me feel bad for asking. He had always been so kind and patient with my ongoing insecurities. I couldn't help but think that maybe I was just an annoyance and he only said it to shut me up. He never made that indication but I worried about it anyway.

"I love you too." I said and lay myself back down.

"Good." He said and pulled me closer to him. "Very good Syver."

I settled down and pressed a kiss to his chest. I kissed him a few times, letting my lips press into one of his tattoos. He lowered his face and kissed the top of my head.

"Goodnight, piccolo diavolo mio." He whispered and it made me smile against his chest.

My heart fluttered at his name for me. Dante was the only person I'd ever allowed to call me something other than my given name. Even as a child, I would protest various nicknames and terms of endearment from my family or friends.

A hush fell between us once more. I listened to his heart beat softly and his breath evened out. I was almost sure that he had fallen asleep. I was physically sleepy but my mind wouldn't shut off. I lay there thinking and over thinking about any and every topic my brain wanted to. It found something specific and I began to harp on it. It was a desire that stuck with me since the beginning of my relationship with Dante.

Despite having assumed that my lover had fallen asleep, I once again sat myself up in bed. I put my hand on his chest but didn't go through the motions of shaking him awake.

"I want to be made yours, Dante." I said.

I hadn't needed to shake him, as it seemed he wasn't in a deep enough sleep to warrant it. He opened one of his eyes, gazing right at me.

I wasn't talking about us being an exclusive couple; we already were. I wanted to be his long term submissive. There were a lot of dominant/submissive aspects when it came to our time in the bedroom, but he never took it beyond the bedroom. I wanted to take things further. He did not, despite my sometimes persistent requests.

"Own me." I said when he hadn't replied.

"No." He said and opened his other eye to look right at me.

"Please. I know I want this." I said and I heard my voice go up in pitch as I whined.

I'd asked him before and it was always no. I don't know what made me ask in that moment but I'd asked. It was up to him to answer me.

"I said no." His words were firm. "Now is not the time to be asking me this."

"There's never a right time with you." I said, really starting to whine. I was becoming quite upset. "You're always telling me no."

"And I will keep telling you no Syver." He said, sitting himself up to better look me in the eye.

"Why?" I asked. I felt my lip starting to shake as my emotions were getting out of control.

"You're not ready for that." He answered. "You can stop asking me. I won't agree to it."

"If I'm asking you, I know I'm ready." I said.

"You're not." He said.

"Fuck." I said, turning to look away from him. I gazed over at the floor. "You don't really care about me." I muttered.

"Excuse me?" Dante asked and he sounded offended.

"If you cared… if you actually gave a shit and loved me, you'd know that I want this Dante. You'd agree to this." I said, nearly shouting.

He threw aside the covers and got up from the bed. He clicked on the bedside lamp. He looked at me. I felt hurt but I looked over at him.

"It's because I care, because I give a shit that I've told you no. It's exactly why I haven't agreed to this." He said, also resorting to shouting. I think my words hurt him. "This has nothing at all to do with the love I have for you. I do love you, I will always love you, but my answer is still no."

"Don't you dare yell at me." I said, letting his words to me go in one ear and out the other.

"I am sorry." He said. "Sorry for raising my voice. I will not apologize for telling you no."

"Because you hate me." I said. It made no sense.

"I don't hate you." He replied, still firm with his words but he lowered his volume.

"You do." I mumbled. I believed it, even if it was the furthest thing from the truth.

"I wish you didn't think that." He said and turned to walk into the bathroom.

"Don't walk away from me." I called towards his retreating back. "Dante, if you walk away I'll know you hate me."

He didn't stop walking. I took it for what I wanted to. I was convinced he hated me. I was hurting but I felt no real surprise. Everyone I fell in love with always ended up hating me. I'd believed I was stupid for falling into a sense of security with him. I hated myself for thinking that he was different.

The bathroom door clicked closed and the sound prompted action from me. I got up from the bed and moved over to the other side. It put me exactly between the bathroom door, the bed, and the door out of the bedroom.

"I'm going now." I called towards the bathroom. "I'll be out of your way tomorrow. You won't ever need to see me again." My words were wavering, as I strained myself to say them. I wanted to cry but I was far too upset to do it.

As I had been expecting, Dante came down into the kitchen. I sat quietly, watching him head over to the counter and begin the process of making himself some coffee. If he knew I was there, he said nothing. His back remained turned towards the table. He was wearing his silk robe and a pair of matching slippers. I watched him brew a full pot of coffee, rather than a single cup like I had done. It made me think that he was tired and needed caffeine. It didn't occur to me that he had made it because he knew I was there and he intended to share it with me.

"I take it you have decided on staying?" Dante said. His tone was level, rough with exhaustion.

I wondered if maybe he hadn't rested when I walked out to sleep downstairs. He stayed up in the bedroom much later than he typically did. It was common for him to be down at the kitchen table an hour before me.

He turned and walked over to the table. His coffee was left on the far counter, next to the machine. He stopped at the narrow end and rested his hands on the edge. He looked tired and I was sure then that he hadn't slept. I felt like it was my fault and my stomach started to hurt.

"I didn't mean it when I said I wanted to leave." I mumbled, looking down at my hands, folded across my lap. "Please don't make me leave."

Without looking up, I knew he walked around the table to my side. I felt his hand on my chin and I looked up. He didn't force the action, I'd done so all on my own. My eyes were red and puffy but I'd stopped my crying at that point. At least stopped for the moment.

"I do not wish you to leave Syver." He said. "I asked you to move in with me and a night of disagreements won't change my mind. You are welcome to stay and my wish is that you still want to."

"I didn't get that impression last night Dante." I said, voice strained as I tried not to cry. In hindsight, my impression was severely skewed by my own anxiety and negative mindset. I'd behaved inappropriately.

The night before he not once implied that he wanted me to leave. It was all my own choice to up and leave our bed, heading down to one of the guest rooms. He hadn't asked me to leave but his choice to not follow me had me believing that maybe I wasn't wanted. His rejection of my request made me feel that way as well.

Even as he stood there telling me he wanted me there, I could not stop the pain of remembering the argument. It wasn't our first, nor would it be the last, realistically. It just, to me, felt far more upsetting. Another thing I struggled with was staying optimistic. I'd been let down, hurt and used so many times by others that weren't him, I slipped into negative thoughts often. The vivid playbacks of shitty situations crowded my brain, even more than the terrifying 'what if?' moments. My eyes brimmed with tears and my lower lip was shaking. I couldn't hold back my crying any longer.

Dante crouched down, resting on one knee. His hands were on me, almost instantly. One, he set over mine, closing his fingers around my clasped hands. He held it there, resting against my lap.

"Piccolo diavolo mio." He whispered, reaching up with his other hand to brush over my cheek.

I sobbed quietly and leaned into his touch. I sniffled and blinked away a flood of tears.

"Please." He whispered so softly, squeezing his hand over mine. "Please stop crying." The way he was looking at me was equal parts heartwarming and terrifying.

There was an intense love and compassion in his mismatched eyes. How could he possibly see me as someone deserving of a look like that? Even after months together, I still couldn't understand what he saw in me. I didn't understand why he cared so much. I wasn't worth it… at least that was what I so often believed. I questioned everything but had no need to. He cared for me. He loved me. I should have been able to see that.

Months of deep and meaningful conversations paired with playful and ridiculous banter couldn't shake my idea that maybe he wasn't serious about the two of us. We enjoyed common interests and introduced one another to newer things.

We shared my secrets of how I grew up under such needless pressures and expectations. I told him just how blind I'd been to the emotional and mental abuses occurring in my home, that the damage was done before I got away. Dante had told me his most guarded secret. He'd confided in me just what he was- half demon. He surprised me by opening up about his mother's bloodline and the things he went through growing up. That alone should have been the key to knowing just how serious he was about being with me. But my anxiety left me blind.

We shared so many intimate experiences. We expressed love and desire for one another. He helped me explore things I'd only wished for previously. He'd helped me be more open with asking for my desires. I know, now, what I like and what I don't. He accepted me. He loved me. I accepted him and I loved him. I loved him so much. On the whole, I was comfortable with him and he with me. We made one another very happy. I put my trust in him and eventually he too opened up and put his full trust in me. 

Yet, I still couldn't believe it was real. I clung to the anxiety driven idea that this was all about to crash down around me. So often it did. I was furious with myself for clinging to that concept. Absolutely nothing between the two of us pointed towards disaster but I couldn't shake it.

"Dante, I can't." I whispered, feeling the tears as they rolled down my cheeks. "I don't know why, but I can't." Again, I sniffled.

I couldn't stop the tears because so much had been building up inside me. I continued to cry as he stood up and leaned over to wrap me up in his arms. I felt so relieved to cry and I started sobbing again as he held onto me. He didn't ask me to stop and I felt he knew that crying was something I had to do. I eventually wrapped my own arms around him.

I don't know how long he held onto me but it was my choice to sit back and look at him. He'd have been willing to hold me as long as I needed him to. I sniffed once and lifted my hand to wipe away the last of my tears.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked me and it honestly wasn't what I expected him to say to me at that time.

"Yeah." I whispered, sniffling once more. I didn't know if I was but I forced the optimistic thought on myself.

"Would you like some more coffee?" He asked me, looking down at my empty mug. "I'd like to sit and talk with you a little while, so maybe we can avoid another night like last?"

"Yes." I whispered. I'd very much liked the idea of a second coffee. I'd drink it warm that time. "We can talk." I added, though anxious about what he might have to say.

"I'll be right back." Dante said, taking the mug from the table and walking back to the counter across the room.

When he returned to the table he held a mug in each hand. He passed me one and held onto the other. I expected him to sit down with me but he didn't.

"Come into the living room." He said and gave a side nod toward the door that connected the two rooms.

I got up from the chair, movement a little bit stiff. I'd been sitting for so long my muscles protested the move. I eventually took the steps to follow him across the kitchen and into our living room.

He sat down on the sofa and looked at me. His expression was blank and it only fueled my anxiety with the situation. I sat down next to him but kept my distance. I set my coffee down on the end table before pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa. I wrapped myself up in it, and began to feel less cold. I turned to face him, curling my legs up onto the seat and tucking them under my body.

"I'm sorry I overreacted last night." I said.

"I accept your apology." He replied, sipping his coffee and leaning over to set the mug down on the table in front of the sofa.

"Thanks." I whispered. "Are you still mad at me?" I asked, thinking he was.

"I am not mad at you Syver." He said and held his arm out in a way that implied he wanted me to move closer.

I didn't move right away but after considering his words, I crawled over, leaning into him. His arm wrapped around my shoulder as I rested my head on his chest. I was staring at the space between the table and the floor. I didn't want to look at him just yet. My own mind was still fighting to convince me he was upset.

He held me in his embrace for a time, the silence between us making my stomach ache even more than it had previously. I didn't know if I should say something or wait for him. I remained quiet, thinking it best to let him start the conversation, as he had been the one to request one in the first place. I closed my eyes and sighed softly when I felt him start to play with my hair. He ran his fingers through the sleep tangled knots, keeping his touch gentle.

"Do you truly believe that I don't love you?" He whispered after a long time. I heard clear distress in his manner of asking and I felt terrible, knowing the distress was all my fault.

"No. Of course not." I answered. I opened my eyes but kept my head down, gazing at the floor. I thought if I turned to look up at him, I'd lose it and start crying again.

"Then why did you say it?" He asked, moving his touch from my hair to the back of my neck. His fingers traced small, soothing circles into my skin.

"I don't know." I whispered, feeling my chest tighten and the prick of tears at my lower lids.

"I understand that your emotions get the better of you, my love, but the idea that I would stop feeling for you is just not true. The way I feel about you, care for you, is unlike any feelings I've had for anyone in a long time. I wish you could see that." He said and I could swear his voice cracked. "My choice to deny your request is not based on a lack of loving you."

I stayed in my spot but I turned my head up, lifting it from his chest so I could see his face. He was looking at me with such intensity but there was a soft fondness in his eyes. There was no way I could deny that he felt so deeply for me. I inwardly cursed my damaged mindset.

"I know you love me Dante." I whispered, letting go of one side of the blanket to reach up and put my hand against his cheek. "I'm sorry I said you didn't."

He reached up and took my hand off his cheek, closing his fingers around my palm. He squeezed my hand and leaned over until our foreheads touched. He looked into my eyes and I looked back into his. I made the decision, the first move to press my lips into his. The kiss was short but it didn't need to go further.

"I love you too." I whispered against his lips and he pulled me closer, kissing me again.

When he leaned back, he continued to hold my hand. His thumb brushed over the back and down to my wrist. I dropped my gaze to our joined hands before I looked back up into his eyes. A small smile crossed my lips.

"When I tell you no, that I do not wish you to fully submit, it is because I know that you are not ready for that Syver. I do not know if you ever will be, but it would be reckless if I gave into your wants at this time. Your behavior last night proved that to me. You aren't ready." He said, voice serious but I could still see the deep love in his eyes. "I tell you no because I love you. If I were to say yes, I could risk losing you. Please, tell me you understand that."

I heard his words and I could see that he was right. I had been caught up in my own head that I never considered he was denying me for my own good. I licked over my lips and nodded my head.

"I won't ask you again." I whispered. I held myself to that promise.

It was true, that I wanted to belong to him. I knew that my desire was to give myself fully, be owned as his long term submissive but I trusted him in telling me no. I knew that he owned my heart and that was more than enough for me.


End file.
